


Dead Sea

by deltachye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8823880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x kenjirou shirabu]To sum him up, he was saltier than the dead sea. And you were stuck with him.





	1. FLEUR

* * *

 

“I can't believe it.”

“I can’t believe it either…”

“[Name]-chan, you were a really good friend when we knew you.”

“We’ll miss you dearly.”

“Quit talking ‘bout me like I’m already dead! Who is it?!” You pushed your classmates away from the board as you squinted at the postings. Your finger traced the list until they landed on your name, the printed kanji familiar. The name next to it… ah. Despair made your blood freeze in your veins. There was no mistaking it. For the lab final worth 35% of your final grade, there was the matchup of:

**GROUP A; BLOCK C (10:00-11:30 AM): SHIRABU KENJIROU & [SURNAME] [NAME]**

“Never mind,” you decided simply. You sat down right in the middle of the floor, placing your hands in prayer and closing your eyes. “I’m dead.”

 

\---

That was how it had been decided. It was purely randomized, but you were just starting to think that it was because a higher being hated your guts. Shirabu Kenjirou was not a nice guy. He was well known, having been upgraded to a regular on the boy’s volleyball team as a second year, and he was polite enough to be popular. But when it came to anything pertaining to studies…

He slammed the two kilogram pile of textbooks on your desk, jerking you awake. You looked up as he glared down at you, his brown eyes fierce under his neat hair.

“Rule 1,” he said stately before you even had a chance to wipe the drool off of your face. “If you drag me down a tiny bit, I’m going to lock you in the cupboard and leave you there until somebody notices you’re gone. Rule 2. We’re getting 100% on this lab practical and anything less means that I’m going to take you out into the yard and practice setting with your skull. Those are my rules. Do you understand?”

“Jeez,” you replied blearily. “Can you even play volley with a disembodied skull?”

And that was how everybody realized that the pairing of Shirabu and [Surname] was the worst one that the teacher could have chosen—because who in their right mind paired a studious #1 tryhard with a girl who came dead last in just about everything but coming in last place? One thing was for sure; blood was to be shed, and nobody knew whose just yet.


	2. DES

“Look on the bright side,” your friend consoled as you chipped away at a shared ice cream aggressively. “At least you’ll pass the final.”

“‘With a hundred, and no less’!” you mocked. You scowled, taking a larger portion of the vanilla ice cream and shoving it into your mouth, complaining past the plastic spoon. “Who does he think he’s partnered with? I’m telling you, he better lower those standards. And to stop trying intimidating me! It’s not going to work.”

“You’re like, way shorter than him. He could spit on you and it’d take a minute to hit you.”

“Don’t say that!” you shouted accusingly, pointing your spoon at her. “He might actually do it!”

As you were motioning to hit her as she pretended to hock a spitball, your phone buzzed in your jean pocket. You fished it out and groaned.

“Who is it?” your friend asked, and you showed her the face of your phone.

**Now  
SHITTYBU: Get your ass to the library. If I don’t see you in five I’ll hunt you down myself.**

“Shittybu?” she commented wryly, but you were busy packing your things. She nearly choked on the ice cream when she realized what you were doing. “[N-Name]-chan? Don’t tell me _you’re_ actually going to go… _study_?”

“I don’t fancy being bullied,” you admitted peevishly. “But I also don’t want to piss him off too much, because he might actually pull me through to passing chem this semester. If I’m not at school tomorrow, he killed me, and my spirit wants vengeance. Got it?”

“Have fun on your date,” was all she said in response, snickering at your horror-stricken face.

\---

“This isn't going to work,” Shirabu muttered after a while, dropping his mechanical pencil on his papers. You peeled your face off of your book and smacked your lips as he muttered under his breath. “How am I supposed to review the fourty labs we did all semester when my lab partner is as incompetent as a dissected rat…?”

“Hey. I’m at least a _living_ rat, thank you very much.” You pulled a paper that had stuck to your cheek off and glanced at it, recognizing Shirabu’s overly neat handwriting and meticulous highlighting. There were even bubbles drawn with extra information scribbled inside. You had no idea kanji could look that good. Screw that, who even wrote in kanji? Your hiragana-only notes looked like a three year old’s wet dream. And those were only during the rare days that you actually took any notes. 

“It’s late. The library is going to close soon.” He looked down at his watch and groaned, brushing his hair back. It stuck up in a funny way and you had the urge to reach over and touch it, stopping yourself just as your fingers twitched. What were you thinking? Shirabu pretty much insulted you the second you looked at him, so you had no business smoothing down his hair like his mother. Or his girlfriend.

“Okay. Well, see you tomorrow then.” You started scooping stuff together when he scoffed. 

“No, not _‘see you tomorrow’_. I only got through half of the review. We’re going to my house.” He was already shoving things back into his folder and you almost choked on your own spit.

“What do you mean, we’re going to your house?!”

“You dorm here, don’t you?” he asked exasperatedly, looking at you dead in the eyes. You blinked, nodding slowly, unsure of how he knew. He continued, glancing away from you, despite the fact that your fluttery heart made it feel like he were still staring at you. “Boys aren’t allowed in the girl’s dormitories and I only live fifteen minutes away. So we’re going to my house.”

“Won’t your parents be mad if you show up with a random chick?” you asked, having it posed as a joke. To your surprise a flash of a grimace came across his face and he hesitated, his fingers hovering over his pencil case.

“No,” he said at last, continuing to shove things to the bottom of his bag aggressively. You watched before slowly drawing papers together yourself, handing them to him silently.

\---

“This isn’t going to work,” you muttered after a while, dropping your (borrowed) pencil on top of (his) notes. He looked up at you blearily, taking his eyes off of the textbook for the first time since you set foot in his not-so-humble abode.

“Maybe if you would actually _read_ —” he began smarmily, but you cut him off.

“Aren’t you hungry? I don’t think I’ve seen you eat all day and it’s like—” you clicked the home button of your phone. “—almost eleven. And your parents aren’t home yet?” You glanced at the huge door, which remained just as shut as it had been hours ago. Despite the gigantic house it seemed totally empty, with nothing but the A/C whirring to keep you company. 

He sighed and scowled deeply, and suddenly you knew you struck a nerve. Before you could take it back he ran a hand through his hair roughly, rubbing his eyes afterwards.

“They’re never home. They’re both lead surgeons at the hospital and take night shifts.”

“Oh,” you realized. “Oh…” Things started falling into place. It made a lot more sense, now. His standards of excellency must’ve come from his successful parents. You’d noticed that there were hardly any family photos. The only frames on the wall were filled with diplomas and certificates or awards. 

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” you asked hesitantly, your blunt attitude softening just a touch. He shrugged, and you were suddenly aware of the exhaustion lining his young face. 

“I’m used to it.”

A wave of sympathy rolled over you and you decided that maybe he wasn’t as bad as you deemed him to be. He at least deserved not to have a contact name of Shittybu. With a decisive grunt you got to your feet, brushing off your pants.

“I’m going to go make us dinner. Do you mind if I use your kitchen?”

He merely stared up at you openly. “You can cook?”

“What, you can’t?”

“I just eat instant noodles when I’m home,” he admitted, much to your disgust.

“All right, _no_. That’s offensive. We’re going to eat real food, not some stringy plastic!” You thought about what he might like before deciding that you might as well ask him instead of trying to please the guy. “What’s your favourite food?”

“…shirasu.” It took him a while to answer, his suspicion hampering his reply until he finally gave in. You nodded brightly, excited to be able to do something you _could_ actually do.

“Come to the kitchen. We’re taking a break,” you declared, walking off. He scrambled to his feet.

“You’re going the wrong way. The kitchen is this way.”

“What the hell?” you asked, whirling on him. “Who has this big of a house?!”

For the first time since you’d started really paying attention to him, he smiled wryly. “Sorry it’s not good enough for you.”

You sighed but allowed him to lead you to the kitchen. You mind was already swirling with recipes and when you got there, you almost cried at the sight of his pantry that practically glowed under the lights. He had every spice you could think of and no shortage of fresh herbs—even his fridge was loaded with staples and expensive goods, like truffles.

“Call me when you’re done,” he said, but you grabbed onto his arm. He stiffened under your touch but you refused to let go, tugging on him harshly so that he staggered back to your side. You pulled your hair back and grinned at him slyly.

“Not today, Shittybu. Today you’re leaning how to cook. And this is my way of saying thanks for carrying me through chemistry,” you added with a wink.

“Our exam is in two days—” he complained, but you shut him up by shoving the rice cooker into his arms.

“You need to take a break!” you chirped authoritatively, enjoying bossing the bossy one around for once. “And what better way than by being a slave for me?”

\---

You blew on the steaming hot rice and looked up shyly to Shirabu, who sat across from you, examining the cluster of baby fish in his chopsticks. Hesitantly, he ate it, before his expression froze. He looked up at you slowly.

“It’s not terrible,” he admitted. You guffawed loudly to hide your immense relief.

“Of course it is! I made it! Let’s eat.”

“Let’s eat.”

The both of you ate in silence but you couldn’t help but notice his warming expression with each bite. Finally, he tipped the bowl back, which warmed your heart. You were a shit group partner, you knew. So you were glad that you could at least make him happy with your food. You pointed at him with your chopsticks, speaking through a mouthful of fluffy rice.

“You know what, Shitt—Shirabu? You’re not half bad.” Although he’d been a pain in the ass to try and manoeuvre around in the kitchen, he was helpful at finding things, and was a fast learner. When he wasn’t insulting you, he was a pretty pleasant guy.

“And what’s the other half?” he asked dryly. He looked down at his watch and grimaced. “Ah, fuck. It’s too late to get back to school.”

“That’s fine,” you said around another large mouthful. You drew a circle with your chopsticks. “You don’t have this bigass house for nothing, right? House me for a night. I’m sure you have silk sheets and stuff. But I want to see _your_ room.”

“Why?” he questioned, blinking curiously. 

“Just to see what you’re really like out of school.”

He rolled his eyes but nodded grudgingly in agreement. You put your bowl down, about to say something else that was immediately deleted from your mind when he reached out and brushed a grain of rice from your chin. You stared as he flicked it onto the table disinterestedly, as if nothing had happened. He looked at you and narrowed his eyes when he noticed you gaping at him.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“N-no reason!” you stammered, grabbing the bowls and getting up before you could say anything stupid. 

As you went to the sink with your back turned, Shirabu resisted the urge to punch himself in the face, turning a shade of red that’d compliment his volleyball uniform instead.


	3. SEL

“Kenji, come on! The listings are going to go up soon!” You dragged him along by hooking your arm around his, tugging hard as he stumbled along, yawning. 

“Why are you so loud?” he complained grumpily. “It’s only 8 in the morning…”

You arrived outside the classroom just as your teacher finished stapling it to the wall. She glanced at you and grinned.

“Ah, Kenjirou-kun. [Name]-chan.”

Shuffling closer to the large poster, your fingers traced the names, landing on the familiar kanji of yours and Shirabu’s. Next to it was a big… fat…

Zero.

Preceded by a one and another zero.

**25/25 – 100%**

“We did it!” you shrieked, the numbers so unfamiliar to you that you almost didn’t recognize them. You turned to your partner, shaking him around. “We did it, we got a hundred!”

“Duh,” he replied dryly, batting your hands away from his jacket. “You had me as a partner.”

“I can’t believe it!” you cheered again, going so far as to throw your hands up into the air. “This is the best grade I’ve gotten in like, six years!”

“You’re so _sad_ ,” Shirabu commented dryly, taking the heel of his hand and smacking you on the top of the head so that you’d stop dancing. “It’s depressing me just listening to you.”

“Shut up!” you whined, clutching the fresh-forming bruise. “Just because you’re a smarty-pants tightass—”

“Since when were Shirabu-san and [Surname]-chan on such good terms?” a classmate whispered, coming around the corner to the hall. You bickered with him shamelessly and he countered all of them with flat remarks, which only seemed to make you angrier.

“Oh! Didn’t you hear? She didn’t come back to the dorms a couple nights ago. Do you think they…”

Suddenly, Shirabu turned in a whip-like fashion, his tone cold. “‘Think they’ what? Do you really think I would associate myself with this childish brat if I had no other choice?”

The girls shut up frightfully but you took offense in a different way, by punching him twice in the shoulder. You yelled again at his side, whining up to him. “Stop being so mean! I’m not going to come over to cook for you again if you keep acting like that!”

The two classmates merely looked at each other. One mouthed,

_‘Cook… again?’_

_‘They’re so dating.’_

The other shrugged, turning away from you (who was still hitting Shirabu) to walk back to class. 

Needless to say, you started miraculously passing in all of your classes, and Shirabu quit eating instant noodles. He didn’t become that much nicer, but perhaps his salty disposition was a bit diluted, to say the least, with you around.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/WC13XT


End file.
